


A LITTLE ARCTIC FLOWER

by Tinevisce



Category: Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan (2020)
Genre: Gen, M/M, bamf!mothers, terrifying mother-in-law
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:42:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24192295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tinevisce/pseuds/Tinevisce
Summary: “Hello, Kartik?”At the older woman’s voice, Kartik flails and almost launches his innocent phone into orbit.He takes a deep breath; knocks on his heart to remind it that it belongs to Aman. God damn it, he is his strongest baby’s baby- he can do this.He plasters a rather superfluous grin on his face. “Hum toh khush hai, aabaad hai, mummy ji”“Khush toh hogay hi, beta. Humare bete pe jo kabzaa kar liya hai tumne”
Relationships: Kartik Singh/Aman Tripathi
Comments: 53
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there: so, essentially, this is all stuff I had originally planned to include in Orange. Because I am an obsessed weirdo, apparently those bits warrant a three-part work now.
> 
> And because I crave your attention and validation more than a junkie craves crack: I had to post this as soon as I the first part written. Honestly, if I had even a smidgeon of discipline in me: I would wait until I had all three parts written. Ah well.

A **LITTLE ARCTIC FLOWER**

_As if some little Arctic flower_

_Upon the polar hem –_

_Went wandering down the Latitudes_

_Until it puzzled came_

_To continents of summer –_

_To firmaments of sun –_

_To strange, bright crowds of flowers –_

_And birds, of foreign tongue!_

_I say, As if this little flower_

_To Eden, wandered in –_

_What then? Why nothing,_

_Only, your inference therefrom!_

-Emily Dickinson

* * *

Kartik calls the weekly performances on his social media the _Volume Karo_ series. He’s always sitting on the same bed, framed by the same iridescent batik sarees turned into drapes. It’s a cozy, beautiful setting to shoot a video from; it is also very meticulously anonymous. Unless you knew exactly where Kartik lived, you would have no way of actually divining where in the world he was posting from.

From the way the point of the anonymity is self-evident to Sunaina, she knows this was probably Aman’s idea: just like she knows those drapes have been picked out by her son because of how beautiful she specifically would look in those sarees.

It has been a good seven months since the showdown with their Aman and his Kartik; a blistering summer has started to give way to pre-winter. It is close to Diwali.

Keshav’s hard-working iPad is propped up on their dining table against a bowl of fruit; the rest of the family is sitting around the device.

Even Rajni has graced them with her presence today: but that’s probably because she’s having breakfast. The girl thinks it’s undignified and unseemly to lavish attention on any performer, least of all performers she actually knows in real life.

It’s a sentiment that Sunaina shares with her niece. Her husband and brother-in-law, apparently, do not because the brothers are sitting together excitedly- _excitedly_ -discussing exactly which song Kartik will be singing today. The vain peacock of a boy has been hinting at working extremely hard to prepare something special for a month now.

Sunaina has better things to do then sit around and expend energy on amateur singers and their endless melodrama. She contrives- and spectacularly fails- to communicate her disapproval to her husband with a chilly glare and realises her husband is probably the latest amongst the Tripathi males to have fallen under the boy’s spell. That, or he’s overcompensating for assaulting the boy.

Sunaina herself does not need to compensate for anything and is free to let her disdain show. Besides, she knows very well that Kartik, amateur singer that he is, has been preparing to sing one of Gulzar’s evergreen classics as a gift for Aman.

(Aman has learned to love those songs over long, languid afternoons spent on her lap)

“ _Ye gaana_ ,” Kartik is telling the camera, “ _mai ek bohot special insaan ke liye gaane ja raha hoon. Agar aapko pasand aya, toh zaroor batana mujhe- nahi aya, toh mera dil rakhne ke liye bol dena bohot accha gaaya_ ”

**_I'm about to sing this song for a very special person. If you like it, please let me know. And if you don't, tell me you liked it anyway!_ **

He takes a breath, hums to find his _Sa_ , and then begins to sing.

_Tere bina zindagi se koi, shikwa, toh nahi, shikwa nahi-_

_Tere bina zindagi toh lekin, zindagi, toh nahi, zindagi nahi…_

* * *

_I have no grudge against a life without you_

_But is a life without you, even life?_

_I wish your steps pick my destinations,_

_And we walk to a place far away_

_Then again, when you’re with me,_

_Aren’t there so many destinations to reach?_

* * *

“ _Kitna accha gaaya, nahi_?”

**_He sang so well, didn't he?_ **

Sunaina thinks there are actual stars in Shankar’s eyes; and really, there is only so much a wife can do to keep her husband’s dignity intact before it’s every woman for herself, _pativrata_ be damned.

“ _Teen jagah mein taal kho diya usney; aur har baar komal ke badle shudh Rishabh lagaya_ ,” Sunaina turns to Rajni because honestly? She’s done with her family sitting around clapping to Kartik’s videos like a troupe of circus animals.

**_He lost his rhythm thrice, and kept singing the pure Rishabh note instead of the variant form every time_ **

“Rajni _beta, aaj Kartik ka number lagana. Baat karni hai ussey_ ”

**_Rajni, call Kartik today. I wanted to speak to him._ **

Rajni takes her shades off at that and stares her down with a literal gimlet eye. Sunaina is unimpressed: she was the one who changed Rajni’s dressings post-surgery after all, when the girl’s own mother couldn’t bear to be near her daughter without bursting into hysterical tears.

* * *

Rajni’s phone call catches Kartik that evening right as he parks his bike and prepares to enter his apartment complex. It’s been an exhausting day at work, and to be honest, he isn’t really up to talking to anyone at the moment: but only Aman is allowed to experience him at anything less than effervescent, so he takes the call.

“ _Arre Rajjo meri jaan, aaj kaise yaad kar liya_?”

**_Rajjo, my darling, what made you remember me today?_ **

“ _Mai nahi, taiji ne yaad kiya hai. Le baat kar-”_

**_Not me, it was my aunt. Here, talk to her-_ **

What the actual _fuck_? They were supposed to be _friends_ , she was supposed to be an _ally,_ you don’t just _-_

“Hello, Kartik? _Kaise ho?_ ”

**_How are you?_ **

At the older woman’s voice, Kartik flails and almost launches his innocent phone into orbit.

He takes a deep breath; knocks on his heart to remind it that it belongs to _Aman_. God damn it, he is his strongest baby’s baby- he can do this.

He plasters a rather superfluous grin on his face. “ _Hum toh khush hai, aabaad hai, mummy ji_ ”

**_We're happy and thriving, mummy ji_ **

“ _Khush toh hogay hi. Humare bete pe jo kabzaa kar liya hai tumne_ ”

**_Of course you must be happy. You've completely taken over my son's life._ **

_Yikes._

“ _Dilli walein hain, mummy ji: dekh chun ke, heere ko taraash ke hi phansaatein hain_ ”

_**I'm a Delhite, mummy ji: we bide our time and only trap the diamonds**._

Dear God, was that a _chuckle_ Kartik just heard from the other end of the line?

“ _Waise toh angrezo ki raani bhi Kohinoor ka darshan kara deti hai har saal. Tum bhi apni kripa drishti barsaon humpe, beta: teen haftein baad Diwali hai. Dono yaha aa jao_ ”

_**Even the English queen trots the Kohinoor diamond out every year. If you could deign to turn your compassionate glance towards us as well: it's Diwali in three weeks. Come on down, both of you**._

Oh God, they’re going to kill him aren’t they? And then Aman will murder them all, right before he takes his own life. It’s going to be a big, fat, macabre Grecian tragedy.

Sunaina cuts the call before he has the chance to complete his meek, “ _Ji mummy ji_ ”

**_Yes, mummy ji_ **

He's going to die, Aman's going to die, they're all going to die.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kartik tries to convince Aman to return to Allahabad with him. Angsty-angst ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are! Finally! I swear by the love of God, how the f- does all my plans to write comedic bits somehow mutate into angst? Anyway, I hope you enjoy this my lovelies!

“Mummy _ji ne call kiya tha_ ,” are the first words that leave Kartik’s mouth as soon as he gets home.

**_Mummy ji had called_ **

The furious, searching glance Aman pares him down with in response rocks him back a step. It’s a glance that promises him payment in blood for every hurt inflicted; the realisation that there is no line Aman won’t cross in his vengeance isn’t new, but it deeply unsettles him all the same.

He uses the moment it takes for him to take his shoes off and deposit his bag by the door to compose himself. In some ways, he’s ashamed to show Aman just how much it means to him: this unspoken offer to spend the rest of his life safely peeking from behind Aman’s shoulder blades. Maybe it’s because there’s no way Aman can viscerally _understand_ how much something like that can mean, having grown up with a family that doted on him.

A family Aman hasn’t spoken to in more than seven months now.

If Kartik can fight Aman’s family for Aman, maybe it’s time he fought Aman for Aman’s family too. The two don’t- shouldn’t- come as two separate units.

* * *

Kartik was born with a non-existent sense of self-preservation and all the ill-fated fascination of a kitten faced with a hissing snake. It’s what led him to think that dyeing his hair blue as a 13-year-old or dramatically proclaiming his homosexuality to his father two years later would turn out to be _good ideas_.

It’s probably also why he thinks a truly pissed off, teeth-gnashing-vein-popping-hand-clenching Aman is a thing of beauty and joy forever. Aman is breathtakingly gorgeous when he’s furious, is what Kartik thinks. He’d say it too, if he wasn’t sure Aman was inches away from wrapping those sexy, sexy hands around his throat and choking him- or maybe shaking him like a rag doll until his teeth rattled loose. _Kartik_ wouldn’t mind, he’s had much worse done to him, but he’d prefer to spare Aman the subsequent horror.

They’d been going round and round in agonising circles for the past hour about this. So far, the end didn’t seem to be in sight.

Kartik had wilfully disregarded all of Aman’s boundaries, prodded him in places he knew were better left alone and _pushed_ his partner in ways that will probably leave Kartik a mishappen, jagged wound of guilt for the foreseeable future- to absolutely zero effect other than elevating Aman’s blood pressure to dizzying heights.

“ _Rakha hi kya hai aur samajhne ko_? _Unke dil mein jo hain who saaf zaahir kar diya tha unhone_? _Phir ab kyu nautanki karna hai_?”

**_What else is there to understand? They’ve made what they feel very clear; what’s the point of all this drama now then?_ **

“ _Baby, time lagaa hoga na unhe, ek mauka toh detein hain_ ”

**_Baby, they just took some time; we should give them another chance?_ **

“ _Tujhe diya tha_? _Mai nahi hota us din toh kutte ki maut milti tujhe,_ sorry _, aaj kal toh kutto ke liye bhi_ Maneka Gandhi _ladti hai_ ”

 ** _Did they give you one? If I hadn’t been there, you would’ve died a dog’s ignominious death, sorry, even dogs have_** Maneka Gandhi ** _fighting for their rights these days._**

“ _Humare liye Shashi hai na, bas biwi ke murder se phursat mil jayein usey_ ”

**_We have Shashi; just so long as he gets the time between murdering his wives._ **

Aman’s hands dart towards Kartik in a murder attempt of their own before aborting at the last second.

_Well, if nothing else is working…_

Kartik braces himself for the world of hurt he’s about to launch, shoots a silent prayer for forgiveness, and, “ _Ye kyu nahi admit karta ki teri abhi bhi phatti hai, mujhe tera partner kehte hue. Thi waha pe mummy ji jab hum kiss kar rahein the- sabko sab pata hai ab._

 _“Mummy ji agar milna chahti hai humse toh tujhe itni problem kyu ho rahi hain? Tere bedroom ka koi ganda raaz nahi hu main_ ”

**_Why don’t you just admit it, you’re still terrified of calling me your partner. Mummy ji was right there when we kissed, everyone knows everything at this point. I’m not your bedroom’s dirty secret._ **

Aman’s nostrils flare as the words reach him, and then his face drains of all expression as the pain explodes.

The backsplash of it is enough to deposit Kartik in a crumpled heap at the foot of their bed. He barely registers the front door slamming shut over the roaring in his ears.

* * *

Kartik hasn’t moved an inch from his position when Aman comes back home.

For starters, going after his lover is a privilege Kartik isn’t sure he still has. Besides, he’s always been a selfish bastard: and Aman, the damned, trusting fool is too dumb to realise that he’s always been head and shoulders out of Kartik’s league. The idiot will come back to him. He always does.

So when Aman sits down on the bed near him, Kartik doesn’t bother with a preamble as he wraps his arms around Aman’s waist and buries his face in Aman’s lap. He’s a selfish bastard; he prefers to take without permission than to risk being refused.

“ _Tu kaafi hai mere liye, lekin kaafi se zyaada kyun nahi maang saktein hum_? _Itne bhi bure nahin hain_ ”

**_You’re enough for me, but why can’t we ask for more than just ‘enough’? We aren’t that bad, are we?_ **

At Aman’s fingers touch to his hair, Kartik releases a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

“ _Kyu maangta hai aisi cheezein jo nahi de sakta mai tujhe, aise sapnein kyu dekhta hai jo mai nahi poora kar sakta hoon_ ,” Aman says, his voice sounds like there are slivers of glass stuck in his throat; although his fingers in Kartik’s hair remain as gentle as ever. “ _Taqleef hoti hai mujhe_ ”

**_Why do you keep asking for things I can’t give you, why do you keep dreaming dreams I can’t fulfill? It hurts._ **

Kartik tightens his arms around Aman.

_I’m sorry. Forgive me. Trust me._

Aman’s hand leaves Kartik’s hair in favour of rubbing his back down his spine.

_Don’t be. There’s nothing to forgive. I trust you with my life, not your own._

* * *

_Rajjo_

_Rajjo!_

_RAJNI!_

_Arre, GOGGLE!_

_3 baj rhe hain kutte. Kya hai?_

**_It’s 3, asshole. What is it?_ **

_Mujhe kuch hoga toh nahi na?_

**_Nothing will happen to me, right?_ **

_???_

_Meri murder ki planning toh nhi chal rhi hai na wha?_

**_Are they planning my murder over there?_ **

_…_

_Kyuki mujhe kuch hua na toh Aman-_

**_Because if something happens to me, Aman will-_ **

_Humare ghar ka ith se ith bajayega, sunn chuki hu line ye_

**_Slam the bricks of our house together? I’ve heard this line before_ **

_Ith kuch bachenge tab bajenge na_

**_There have to be bricks left for them to slam into each other._ **

_Chutiya_

**_C**t_ **

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunaina finds Kartik in the courtyard occupying her usual spot by the tulsi manch. It’s early enough that the day is still rather dewy. His hair is sticking out in a wild bird’s nest and there is a look of wide-eyed awe in his features.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said this would be a three part story? Yeah, if I stuck to that, it would be next week or so before I'd be able to post. So I decided to post what I had at least and leave the rest for the next chapter.

Sunaina finds Kartik in the courtyard occupying her usual spot by the _tulsi manch_. It’s early enough that the day is still rather dewy. His hair is sticking out in a wild bird’s nest and there is a look of wide-eyed awe in his features.

Sunaina thinks he looks a bit like a still-born kitten mistaking the afterlife for, well, life. If a psychopomp is what she’s apparently supposed to be this morning, she wonders if this lost soul can be lured with tea.

“ _Neend nahi ayi Kartik_ ,” she asks, enjoying seeing him jump at the sound of her voice.

**_Couldn’t sleep, Kartik?_ **

As he turns to face her, she can see his boisterous persona begin to steal over his face- and then flicker and fade at whatever he sees in hers.

(Sunaina belatedly realises that it’s probably because her own masks aren’t quite in place yet. This early on in the day, she generally doesn’t run into other people)

“ _Nahi, neend toh acchi ayi thi. Bas jaldi aankh khul gayi, aur yaha aake baith gaya_ ”

**_No, I slept soundly enough. It’s just that I woke up early today, so I just came out and sat here._ **

Sunaina raises an eyebrow and shoots the shut door of Kartik and Aman’s room a look. Kartik follows her glance and contrives to give her a mischievous grin. His smile just comes out fond instead.

“Bodyguard _nahi hai woh mera, uske nigrani se baahar bhi kahi ja sakta hu main_ ”

**_He’s not my bodyguard. I can go somewhere without his permission._ **

“ _Acchi baat hai. Mujhe toh laga tha ki who tujhe hathkadi mein bandh ke har jagah leke jaata hoga_. _Ya woh sirf bistar se hi baandhta hai tujhe_?”

**_Good to know. I thought he drags you everywhere in handcuffs- or does he only shackle you to your bed?_ **

Sunaina uses Kartik’s temporary state of speechlessness to enthrone herself on the jute-woven cot facing the boy. In her mind’s eyes, this is the same cot Kartik probably would have collapsed onto if her husband had been allowed to go through with what he had started, all those months ago now.

It isn’t a wonder that Aman has returned to his home hypervigilant and tense, looking at everyone and everything with a deep suspicion he doesn’t even bother to hide. No, Aman hasn’t come back home; he’s just come back to the house he grew up in.

“ _Waise toh chai mai tujhe banake deti,_ ” she tells Kartik, “ _lekin mere haath ke chai peeke tujhe agar kuch hua toh tera angrakshak humpe keher banke baras padega._

 **_I would’ve made you tea, under normal circumstances. But if something were to happen to you after drinking tea_ ** **I _gave you that bodyguard of yours will come down on us like the Hand of God_**

 _Rasoi kaha pe hai tujhe pata hi hai, toh tere mummy ji ko ek cup chai banake dega?_ ”

**_You know where the kitchen is- will you make your mummy ji a cup of tea?_ **

She leaves it unsaid that the _angrakshak_ in question used to be her son once upon a time. From the way Kartik’s eyes dim a little, she knows he heard her anyway.

Ten minutes later, Sunaina is handed a cup of steaming ginger chai. Kartik has even remembered her beloved _Marie_ biscuits. Her heart clenches thinking about what could possibly reduce a proud creature like this boy to such diffidence.

She knows what it probably is and hates herself a little for knowing it. Looking up from her thoughts, she locks eyes with Kartik whose gaze has swapped out the cobwebs of sleep-addled wonder in favour of laser-focussed intensity. He is every bit as hypervigilant as Aman is, she realises, only that he’s usually much better at hiding it than her son.

“ _Chai acchi bani hai,_ Aman _bhi aise hi banata hai_ ”

**_The tea is really good. Aman makes it exactly like this._ **

“ _Usee ne toh sikhaya mummy ji, nahin toh iss nalayak se pani bhi thik se nahi ubala jata tha_ ”

**_He’s the one who taught me, mummy ji- otherwise this idiot couldn’t even boil water correctly_ **

She opens her mouth to chuckle only to find to her surprise that it seems she would rather sob instead.

_Oh._

Those are _tears_ that are burning her chest, aren’t they? Tears for the fact that this house will probably never be home ever again for her son. Tears for the fact that these two boys have made a home of their own to which she will never truly be welcome. That no matter how civil they eventually end up being to each other, she will always remain a potential threat to these children.

She will always be the shadow looming against their little universe, yearning to share in their little triumphs and tragedies- but fenced out as surely as the darkness the light keeps at bay.

When she speaks, her voice does a decent imitation of remaining steady, stoic. “ _Mai jabbhi bhi kehtu hu ki Ma ke paas dil hota hai_ _toh Aman ke papa bohot gussa kartein hain. Itni saalon mein mai samjhaa nahi payi ki ye tareef nahi kar rahi hu mai._

**_Whenever I say that mothers have hearts, Aman’s father loses his temper. All these years, I haven’t been able to explain to him that I don’t say this as a compliment._ **

“ _Baap ka pyaar phaisla hota hai. Phaisla kiya toh jaan chidkenge aulaad pe, aur phaisla kiya toh usi aulaad ki jaan lene se katrainge bhi nahi_ ”

**_A father’s love is a decision. If they decide to, they will gladly give their lives for their children. And if they decide to, they won’t flinch from murdering those very children with their bare hands._ **

Kartik’s knuckles have turned white from the effort of finding purchase in the cement he’s sitting on.

“ _Ma bebas hoti hai. Bas ek baar dekh liya bacche ko toh dil kho baithti hai hamesha ke liye_ ”

**_Mothers are- helpless. They see their child once, and that’s it! Their hearts are captured forever._ **

The light in Kartik’s eyes is almost completely quenched; she sees his throat labouring to keep the floodgates closed.

“Aman _tujhe bhale hi devdoot man le, lekin tu bhi toh kisika beta hai. Ye soch mujhe bohot satati hai; ki tere saath jo humnein kiya who dekhke teri Ma ko kitni chot pohochi hogi_ ”

**_Aman may think of you as some angelic being, but you’re someone’s son, aren’t you? I haven’t been able to live with myself thinking about how much it would’ve hurt your mother, if she saw what we did to you._ **

“ _Ma nahi hai_ ,” Kartik says, voice small like he’s admitting to a personal failing.

**_I don’t have one._ **

It really, is though, isn’t it, Sunaina thinks. Without a mother to take for granted, it’s no wonder this criminally stupid man-child has grown up romanticising mothers in that rose-tinted brain of his. It’s absolutely a personal failing that he has such a low baseline for familial relationships that he’s come running back to this place after what’s happened to him here: that he seems to have already dispensed forgiveness even before they’ve summoned up the courage to ask for it.

When she lays a tentative hand on his head and says, “ _Tere saath humein nahi karna chahiye tha aisa_ ” Kartik looks back up at her in shock, as though it’s something he can’t quite believe is being said to him.

 **_We shouldn’t have done what we did to_ ** **you.**

The light in his eyes re-kindles, and then spills over as tears.

“Kartik!”

As though his tears have rung a bell that chimes on a frequency she can’t hear, the person who _can_ hear it appears marching stridently up to them. The look on his face promises oceans of pain and blood if he finds even one hair out of place on his Kartik’s head.

Sunaina thinks she has never been prouder of her son; of the man he’s grown into. She laughs, and even though it’s watery, it isn’t only grief that’s flaring in her heart.

“ _Woh dekho, aa gayein Veer Bhadra. Chinta mat kar, ise agni kund mein kudne ko nahi keh rahi thi mai_ ”

 **_There he arrives, our_ ** **Veer Bhadra. _Don’t worry, I haven’t told this one to jump into a pyre._**

Kartik reaches out a long arm and snags Aman mid-stride just as he opens his mouth to say something (probably rude) to her.

As she sees Kartik contort his long frame to somehow rest his forehead against Aman’s heart, her short(er) son bending his neck at a painful-looking angle in his bid to make sure Kartik’s hair remains indeed untouched- Sunaina feels something shift in her mind.

Aman and Kartik aren’t _Aman and Kartik_ , they’re just- Aman and Kartik. It’s Kartik reaching out to Aman for comfort. It’s Aman irritably taking out the day’s frustrations on Kartik who tries valiantly (and probably fails) to brighten her son’s mood. It’s just them being an essential part of each other’s lives.

Is this what Rajni and Keshav have been trying to tell her all this while about love being love? From where she’s standing, it doesn’t look so terrifying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do tell me how you like this!

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this work comes from the excellent poem quoted at the beginning. I was basically trying to find a poem which expressed the "love is love" sentiment; of course, like a lot of times, Emily Dickinson rose to the challenge.
> 
> Her poem is of course not about queer love (as far as I am aware at any rate): but it does talk about how differences are only as big as you make them. Love isn't love only when you think it isn't :)


End file.
